How now, fair maid?
ISABELLA: I am come to know your pleasure.
ANGELO: That you might know it, would much better please me
Than to demand what 'tis. Your brother cannot live.
ISABELLA: Even so. Heaven keep your honour! 
ANGELO: Yet may he live awhile; and, it may be,
As long as you or I: yet he must die.
ISABELLA: Under your sentence?
ISABELLA: When, I beseech you? that in his reprieve, 
Longer or shorter, he may be so fitted
That his soul sicken not.
ANGELO: Ha! fie, these filthy vices! It were as good
To pardon him that hath from nature stolen
A man already made, as to remit 
Their saucy sweetness that do coin heaven's image
In stamps that are forbid: 'tis all as easy
Falsely to take away a life true made
As to put metal in restrained means
To make a false one. 
ISABELLA: 'Tis set down so in heaven, but not in earth.
ANGELO: Say you so? then I shall pose you quickly.
Which had you rather, that the most just law
Now took your brother's life; or, to redeem him,
Give up your body to such sweet uncleanness 
As she that he hath stain'd?
ISABELLA: Sir, believe this,
I had rather give my body than my soul.
ANGELO: I talk not of your soul: our compell'd sins
Stand more for number than for accompt. 
ISABELLA: How say you?
ANGELO: Nay, I'll not warrant that; for I can speak
Against the thing I say. Answer to this:
I, now the voice of the recorded law,
Pronounce a sentence on your brother's life: 
Might there not be a charity in sin
To save this brother's life?
ISABELLA: Please you to do't,
I'll take it as a peril to my soul,
It is no sin at all, but charity. 
ANGELO: Pleased you to do't at peril of your soul,
Were equal poise of sin and charity.
ISABELLA: That I do beg his life, if it be sin,
Heaven let me bear it! you granting of my suit,
If that be sin, I'll make it my morn prayer 
To have it added to the faults of mine,
And nothing of your answer.
ANGELO: Nay, but hear me.
Your sense pursues not mine: either you are ignorant,
Or seem so craftily; and that's not good. 
ISABELLA: Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good,
But graciously to know I am no better.
ANGELO: Thus wisdom wishes to appear most bright
When it doth tax itself; as these black masks
Proclaim an enshield beauty ten times louder 
Than beauty could, display'd. But mark me;
To be received plain, I'll speak more gross:
Your brother is to die.
ANGELO: And his offence is so, as it appears, 
Accountant to the law upon that pain.
ANGELO: Admit no other way to save his life,--
As I subscribe not that, nor any other,
But in the loss of question,--that you, his sister, 
Finding yourself desired of such a person,
Whose credit with the judge, or own great place,
Could fetch your brother from the manacles
Of the all-building law; and that there were
No earthly mean to save him, but that either 
You must lay down the treasures of your body
To this supposed, or else to let him suffer;
What would you do?
ISABELLA: As much for my poor brother as myself:
That is, were I under the terms of death, 
The impression of keen whips I'ld wear as rubies,
And strip myself to death, as to a bed
That longing have been sick for, ere I'ld yield
My body up to shame.
ANGELO: Then must your brother die. 
ISABELLA: And 'twere the cheaper way:
Better it were a brother died at once,
Than that a sister, by redeeming him,
Should die for ever.
ANGELO: Were not you then as cruel as the sentence 
That you have slander'd so?
ISABELLA: Ignomy in ransom and free pardon
Are of two houses: lawful mercy
Is nothing kin to foul redemption.
ANGELO: You seem'd of late to make the law a tyrant; 
And rather proved the sliding of your brother
A merriment than a vice.
ISABELLA: O, pardon me, my lord; it oft falls out,
To have what we would have, we speak not what we mean:
I something do excuse the thing I hate, 
For his advantage that I dearly love.
ANGELO: We are all frail.